Chapter 225

  It's All About Sending a Message

  For the next duel, Zeke was chosen to fight against Sir Ofred Grantz. He was a stout-looking man with a powerful jaw. He glared at Zeke menacingly as he made a neck-slicing gesture.

  “I’m going to make you pay dearly for the disgrace you have caused my brother!”

  “That was your brother? Let me guess, you’re the dumb one,” Zeke tapped the flat of his sword playfully. The shifty man wore light armour that protected only the parts that needed protection, which allowed him to execute his Techniques without being hindered by the bulk.

  “I’ll kill you!!!”

  Zeke shrugged. As an Ex-Greyrat who had lived most of his life in a world where bad words are as bountiful as stars in the sky, he thought that such low-class taunts were uninspired.

  The fight this time was almost one-sided. The crafty Zeke danced around the fuming Ofred using the first four forms of the Star Chasing Sword. He drew blood each time he swung his sword, aiming at his joints. It was the first time he fought against a man who was not a Grey Ghost. He was elated to find that he was winning against someone who was a proper Knight.

  Finally, Ofred fell to his knees, his sword fell to the floor and blood had wet the cloth under his gauntlet. Zeke laid his sword lightly on the man’s shoulder plate, making a slight clink as he did so.

  Seeing that the winner was already clear, Donovan raised his hand. “The winner is - !”

  “I surrender!” Zeke raised both hands as the sword he was holding dropped onto the floor with a clang.

  “What?!” Donovan exclaimed.

  “What?!” Ofred looked up from where he was kneeling, flabbergasted.

  “You heard me! I surrender!!

  “Why? You have defeated me!” Ofred demanded. “You dare pity me?”

  “Pity?” Zeke shrugged dramatically. “Sir Ofred, is it? This ain’t no pity. We both are nothing more than the opening for the main event.”

  “Huh?”

  “Well, that’s…are you sure?” Donovan looked at where Zeke’s Mistress was.

  “Yes, yes. He surrendered,” Connie said with mocking impatience. “Let’s get on with it.”

  “A-alright! The winner is! Sir Ofred!!”

  Ofred, still dazed from the sudden turnaround, was half-dragged off the stage. The conclusion of the second duel was followed with an awkward cheer. For it was still the Archdeacon’s side’s victory.

  “You could have just surrendered from the start,” Locke said as Zeke walked down from the arena.

  “Had to make sure to show them what Grey Ghosts can really do,” Zeke raised his hand. Their hands met with a powerful smack.

  The Maiden of Water gazed at Archdeacon Lowen, who was glowering at her from the opposite side. While on Connie’s side, she was enjoying being fed grapes by her Dark Elf companion. The bountiful Maiden was getting tired of being surprised by what the blonde did that all she could do was let out a long, trembling sigh.

  “The Duchess is…highly unorthodox,” Millicent pondered. “But why did she make his representative give up the second win after all that effort to win the first one?”

  “I…suspect…it’s..to maximiise…the effect of her victory,” Allenca spoke. She had an inkling of who is going to come forward from the mischievous Duchess’s side next. I should start thinking of my next move.

  Down on the combat arena, Donovan took a deep breath before addressing Connie. “The next duel will be the final one. Winning or losing will be decided in a whirlwind of suspense! Duchess, please choose the one your representative will fight.”

  “That privilege will be given to my Captain,” Connie snapped her finger. “Nick!!”

  In response to his Mistress’s call, Nick slammed his large shield to the ground and bellowed.

  “MORRIS!! You addle-headed bastard!! Come and face me like a man!!”

  Morris was red-faced from the name-calling. “You insufferable lout! I will crush you like a bug!!!”

  “Morris!” Hatings scolded him. “Do not let him get to you!”

  With a loud harrumph, Morris turned his face away from Hastings, who frowned from the man’s disrespect.

  “Morris,” Archdeacon Lowen’s voice caused the haughty man to stop on his tracks and bowed. “I have invested much on you, so there is no excuse for you not to be able to win. Go and kill that man, I will take care of the aftermath.”

  “Heheheh. Understood, Uncle. I’ll make sure he and that bitch regret messing with us.”

  Lowen ignored the fact that Morris just called him so familiarly despite having been told countless time to call him using his title and

  “Ugh,” Hastings groaned. He had tried to put effort into training the arrogant man as he was his benefactor’s nephew, but due to his position, was unable to rein him in.

  The two men stepped onto the arena, watched by the crowd who were getting rowdy from the excitement.

  Though the two were Paladins, the disparity between them was clear even to the naked eyes.

  The man called Morris wore expensive, enchanted armour and a sturdy shield that gleamed brightly under the sun. The sword in his hand too, was made of fine steel, a work by a master Blacksmith. All of them would be unreachable to a regular peasant even if they worked their whole lifetime.

  Compared to that, the armour of the man named Nick looked a sorry sight. The chestplate had marks of monster claws, and the large shield’s surface had nicks and wear despite having just been bought about two months ago. As for the sword, it was the newest of the bunch, but the pommel and edge had already bore marks of use.

  “You know, you could’ve solved all of this by apologizing to the ladies, Morris,” said Nick as he affixed the strap of his shield tighter onto his forearm.

  “I don’t bow down to beasts,” the man said with a spiteful tone.

  Nick sighed. “Well, up yours then.”

  Donovan came up to them. “All Skills and Spells are allowed, but no Items will be used – “

  “Let’s get on with this!” Morris banged the front of his shield with the side of his sword twice and took his stance.

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  “Begin!!”

  At almost the same time, the two declared their Skills.

  “SHIELD RUSH!”

  Two bluish streaks met in the middle of the arena with a deafening din. The two had the same idea; to close the distance as soon as possible.

  They pushed against each other, their shields creating sparks from the friction.

  “A proper Paladin bear his shield with his legs, Morris!!” Nick said while advancing inch by inch, pushing the man back. “Have they gone limp from all the kneeling?!”

  “H-how are you pushing me back?!”

  Nick braced his right leg and pushed even harder, causing his opponent to lose his footing.

  Wasting no time, Nick swung his sword, only to be defended in the nick of time by Morris’s shield.

  “Hrrah!!” Morris kicked Nick away and quickly regain his stance. He thrust his sword at Nick’s chest, but was effortlessly parried by the veteran. Nick used the lapse in the attack to strike at his stomach. The armour - worthy of its quality - protected his abdomen, leaving only a dent.

  Nick looked at the tip of his sword that had a chip from the impact with a surprise.

  “HAH!!” Morris laughed, seeing that he managed to endure the attack. “Look! You can’t even hurt me!! HYAAAH!”

  Morris swung his sword haphazardly in the hope of catching Nick. However, he did not even do him the courtesy of defending and simply dodged them using his footwork.

  “What do you think?” Elfriede asked her second-in-command.

  “Even at a glance, you know which one had the more experience and had the higher level. However, the difference in equipment quality is making it hard to judge,” he gave his two coins. “I must say, the way the Paladin under the Duchess’s employ is fighting in a very unorthodox way.”

  “Indeed. I wonder where she finds all these interesting people.”

  Nick brought his shield forward, enduring the increasingly confident attacks from Morris. The man’s brain was thinking about how to defeat the man with the superior equipment. Then, he came up with a plan.

  “Where is that bravery from before, huh?” he goaded the blustering man.

  “Says the man who can’t even go through a man wearing rags!”

  “I’ll see you bleed!!”

  The enraged Morris did not notice that he had started forgetting to put his shield up while swinging his sword. As he made another powerful swing, Nick parried the attack with a Skill. “Shield Bash!!”

  Morris was not prepared for the sudden heavy shield coming at his sword-wielding hand. With a nasty crunch, his knuckled bones cracked and he lost his sword. “AARGH!!”

  He then noticed the gap and was about to tried to raise his shield, but another surprise was already waiting.

  Nick swung his sword upward. “L?wengebrüll!!”

  The roaring sound of a lion followed by powerful gust of wind struck Morris in the chest. The attack threw him into the air and he landed harshly onto the floor, the impact forced the air out from his lung. The scruffy Paladin smirked, feeling a rare pride at having succeeded of launching such a rare Skill that most people only dared to dream of.

  Elfriede jumped out of her seat upon seeing the Skill. She leaned forward, gripping the stone railing by her waist. “That’s…Geno’s Skill!! How can he do that?!”

  Morris tried to stand up, but a shimmer of steel had gone past his sight and onto his neck.

  “A good armour is only as good as the man who wore it! And you are not even half a man,” Nick said, pressing the sword firmly until it nearly drew blood. “Yield.”

  “I…” Morris did not want to say it, but the cold steel had eroded his will. “I…I yield.”

  “The winner has been decided!” Donovan announced the result. At once the crowd exploded. There were those who celebrated the win out of spite for the arrogant Church Knight, but there were also those who cursed the winner’s name. Nick ignored them all, raised his sword and faced his companions, who clapped their hands for his win from their seats.

  “Morris…you useless…no-good…” Lowen could not find the words to express his anger. His thin, clawed knuckled went white from the force he was putting into them. “Hastings! We are leaving!!”

  As Donovan was helping the defeated to stand up. Nick whipped to face Morris. “A moment, Sir Donovan,” he started. “Our side has won the bet, now it is time to pay the price. You and your men must apologize to the ladies who you had offended!”

  Morris spat, his body trembling from the humiliation he endured. He glanced at Lowen’s seat and felt coldness at the pit of his stomach when he realized that it was empty. He looked down in frustration and forced out the words.

  “I…apologize…-”

  “Not to me, Morris,” Nick said as he gestured to Lihua and Akula who were looking down at them from their spot.

  “I apologize…for my…action," the man said, before coughing blood and fell to the ground, having broken a rib from the fall.

  Seeing their leader apologizing to the Beastfolks, his cronies – barring the one currently passed out in the infirmary – followed suit.

  “Is….the apology…sufficient, Duchess?” Allenca asked.

  Connie looked at Akula and Lihua in turn. After seeing them nod, Connie answered. “It is, Your Eminence.”

  “Then I declare…! That this duel iiis…over!!”

  The announcement marked the end of the show and the crowd of Clerics and Church Knights began to disperse, discussing amongst themselves the surprises that they had just witnessed.

  While Connie and his companions caught up with Nick and his men who had returned triumphant, a squeaky voice called on them.

  “Duchess!! Excuse me. Pardon me,” Matilda squeezed through the crowd and bowed to Connie. “Thank Junnaveil that I didn't miss you. Ehem...the Maiden of Water extended her congratulations for your victory, Duchess,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “Unofficially, of course. And she told me to invite you to visit the Temple tomorrow morning for a meeting.”

  “What for?”

  “She didn’t tell me. She said that it’s regarding the question you asked before.”

  Connie raised an eyebrow. “Ah, I see…Anything else?”

  “There’s nothing else,” she bowed again. “With that, please excuse me. I have to attend my training.”

  “As you were, Matilda.”

  When she disappeared down the hallway, Illumca noticed Elfriede on the other side of the hall and tapped Connie on the shoulder. The plump woman walked towards them with her second-in-command trailing slightly behind. “Duchess! That Skill the Paladin under your employ used, wasn’t that the Steelheart Family’s Signature Skill?”

  “Yes. How do you know that?”

  “I’ve fought with your father before. I’ve seen him slay many Demons with it,” said Elfriede. “You…taught someone outside your bloodline such an invaluable Skill?” she asked again, utterly confounded. Skills tied to a certain bloodline were usually tightly controlled and taught only to direct descendants. To teach it to those outside of the family was unheard of.

  Connie knew what she meant, as such things were also normal in her old world. So, she answered the question honestly. “The Skill ill fits me. Thus, rather than letting it rot in the basement, I taught it to him.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of him teaching it to outsiders?”

  “Haha. If he could manage to reach that level, I’d reward him myself,” Connie jovially said. “Now, enough about that, we are about to have a feast to celebrate my men’s winning. Would you like to join us?”

  “I’d love to, but I can’t. I have a meeting with the Maiden right after this. But I’d love for you to join us for dinner.”

  “It would be our pleasure.”

  The next morning, after a quick breakfast, Connie headed over to the Temple.

  Today she went alone. After a night of carousing and feasting, Connie gave the men the day off, which she suspected that most of them would waste sleeping off the hangover from the copious amount of wine they imbibed the night before.

  The others wanted to accompany her, but she refused, instead giving them all free rein for the day to do what they want.

  When she arrived at the Temple, she told an Aspirant on duty of her purpose, and went into the Main Hall. She gazed at the statue of Junnaveil as she waited. Her expression impassive.

  “Good morning, Duchess. Have you broken your fast yet?” Archdeacon Babblebrook greeted her with a cheer. This time, he was alone.

  “I have. I had a glass of milk and a piece of cheese and grapes,” Connie entertained his effort of small talk. “Where is Allenca?”

  “The Maiden of Water is currently handling the aftermath of yesterday’s event,” Babblebrook looked left and right to make sure that there was no one around, then gestured for her to follow him to a corner.

  “She wanted to meet you herself. But due to the circumstances, she assigned me to do it in her stead. She told me to guide you to meet the one who could answer your questions.”

  “…why all this secrecy?” she asked.

  Instead of answering, Babblebrook gestured for her to follow him. “All will be made clear when we arrive at our destination, Duchess. Please, follow me.”

  Intrigued, Connie followed him deep into the Temple. Passing the large courtyard, through hallways dotted with Clerics, who whispered amongst themselves after they passed them by. The two walked down a series of steps which the fat Archdeacon navigated carefully.

  “Where are your helpers?” Connie asked, watching the man breathing heavily from exhaustion.

  “They are in their morning class. This way, Duchess.”

  At the bottom of the steps, she saw the sunlight illuminating a small garden. As she walked forth, she saw an alcove with a statue of Junnaveil, two indentations on each side of the alcove wall contained statues of the lesser gods. One of which Connie recognized as Licai.

  In front of the statue, was an old woman with hunched back. She was kneeling on a worn-out cushion. Her piously clasped hands were thin, with skin that sagged on brittle bones. Her long white hair was formed into a prim bun and her head covered with fine white muslin. She wore simple white cloth and blue sash, all unadorned; not even with the usual symbol of the Faith.

  “Your Eminence, I have brought the Duchess to you,” Babblebrook spoke with utmost reverence.

  The old woman finished her prayers and rose from her bended knees. Her face was heavily wrinkled with sunspots dotting her cheek. A scar split the left side of her lower lip.

  “Ah, thank you, my dear Babblebrook,” she came forward and clasped Connie’s hands in greeting. Her hands were frail. They contained within them a warmth that Connie could not describe.

  “I bid you welcome, Duchess Steelheart. Allenca had told me about you, and you are indeed, as dashing as she described,” she let go of her hands, took a step back and placed one hand atop her chest. “My name is Rachel Rottmuller. I am Allenca’s mentor, and the previous Maiden of Water. I have been waiting for your arrival.”